


Looks like you might be one of us

by SerenePhenix



Series: Looks like you might be one of us [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Comrades in Arms, Friendship, Gen, Gen Work, Headcanons turned fanfiction, I have a lot of feels about the space uncle, Original Characters - Freeform, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 10:12:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8282212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenePhenix/pseuds/SerenePhenix
Summary: Coran has a lot of regrets but none greater than the certainty he could have stopped this war before it began.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I really have no idea what this was about. This plot-bunny would not leave me alone. It still hasn’t. It’s sitting right there, all smug and telling me to get on with the next installments of this series.  
> Someone help me…
> 
> This series as a whole will explore some ideas about Altean culture. I'm actually quite excited.  
> Have fun reading!

Before Coran had been an advisor to the royal family, he had been a defender of the universe.

It was a time he no longer liked to reminiscence about, memories too tainted and bitter to allow himself to delve deeper into them. Memories filled with camaraderie and appreciation; tied closely to friends and companions not much unlike the latest generations of Paladins he now found himself tending to – whom he was mentoring despite their ignorance of the truth that was his past.

Then again, not even Princess Allura was aware of it. His own time as a Paladin had been brief and far before king Alfor would be able to announce the birth of an heir to his people. 

He wondered, as he ran a diagnostic on the Lions from the command center, why he and his friend had gone to such ridiculous lengths to conceal the truth.

His hand stilled millimeters from the immaculate surface of the control panel.

Of course he knew. It was the same reason as to why King Alfor had never dared to mention it but in hushed tones, far away from prying eyes and ears.

They had been so blind, so ignorant of the truth. If Coran allowed himself to think about it, it would consume him, drown him viciously and suffocate him in guilt and shame.

The screen lit up as a notification came in. One of the Lions seemed in need of minor repairs.

The smile was miniscule, knowing and a touch wistful. Despite his better judgement he indulged the small pressure in his chest, leaving the room to go to one of the hangars. There was no equipment needed and as such no necessities for making detours. The notification itself was a farce in all honesty.

Coran was unsure whether it was well-meant or not.

In a time long-past (even longer past than he could feasibly comprehend), they never would have needed to communicate in such a roundabout and unrefined manner. He missed it indeed: this strong and sage presence accompanying him, giving him the confidence he had needed to accomplish his task of keeping the universe at peace.

Its loss had been one of the reasons for his fervent search of knowledge, becoming aware that it was no longer at his disposal by merely asking a centuries-old entity for advice. What good was he as a royal advisor, if he could not rely on his own wits?

He did not begrudge the new Paladin for something he missed dearly in these precarious times; but he missed it nonetheless.

He would even go as far as to say that he was glad to simply be close to his erstwhile partner in the first place, even if it was not the same closeness that had filled him when he sat behind those controls, twisting and turning in mid-air, hovering just outside of a planet’s gravitational pull to admire the myriads of stars shining above invitingly, beckoning the both of them.

Those had been the good old days. The only ones that did not scrape open wounds and doubts.

King Alfor had once confided that, had it not been for his duty as the leader of their people, he never would have renounced his own position as the Yellow Paladin. In retrospect, Coran had to admit that he had shared the sentiment no matter how vehemently he might have denied it in the past.

Being a Paladin had been an honor but continuing in the line of his family’s duty had never been a matter for him to question. It was what he had dreamed to be; to serve the great leader (and by extension his best friend) in ensuring their fellow Alteans’ continued prosperity and wellbeing. Just like his grandfather and father had done before him.

As the lights beyond the elevator’s glass ghosted over him during his descent, he could not help but see the faces of those he had deemed as close as his blood family flash before his inner eye.

King Alfor, just as young a lad as he had been when their predecessors gave up their positions as pilots, leaving it up to their Lions to search for new aspirants.

Back then, when peace had not been a far-off dream but a constant in their known universe, it was customary for the Paladins to change periodically. With some races outliving others by centuries, in rare cases even millennia, it was a necessity.

When two of the Lions had been brought to Altea once again and when those ancient beings trapped in machinery whirred to life underneath Coran’s and Alfor’s touch, when those first, extrinsical feelings flooded them… To this day, Coran was short of words to describe what it had been like, to be chosen for a task so extraordinary.

It had not been a joke when he had asked the scaly Paladin Gyk whether there had been a mistake. A good-natured chuckle had been the only answer he had gotten – and hard shove from the metallic creature he was to grow close to, sending him face first in the dirt.

Alfor had been humbled but more than willing to accept his new role, seeing it as an opportunity to prove his worth as Altea’s future king. Coran could never have thanked him enough for his infectious enthusiasm.

Uan’ had been small and fiery, a feisty warrior worthy of piloting a being as difficult and stubborn as the Red Lion. In a sense, it was a blessing that because of their fast-beating hearts, thrumming like the core of the castle energy chamber at full throttle, the lives of their species were relatively short even in comparison to humans. A blink of an eye to Altean really. In a somewhat perverse way, Coran was thankful they had never had to witness the downfall of Voltron. If anything, it would have broken their heart.

Xeiddynt had been a good guardian of the forest. Reclusive and unable to communicate through speech, Xeiddynt had been the most mysterious of their little group. It was amusing to think about how outlandish Coran had found their constant need to tap him on the arm with their oblong, gray feelers until it had dawned on him that there was a pattern to it. He had never fully mastered the language of the Lesnians but it had been a good way of riling up their unknowing team members, the latter accusing them (sometimes rightfully) of planning their next shenanigans.

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened to reveal the deserted hangar. Coran’s steps did not even hitch as the crossed the threshold, striding purposefully towards his friend.

They faced each other, purple eyes staring into the illuminated depths of soulful, yellow panes.

“Am I to assume that there is actually no need for me to attend to you other than to serve as entertainment?”

His good humored question was rewarded with a glint he could describe as mischievous. At least, he guessed it was. It was prick to his heart to realize how uncertain he was without the actual confirmation coming from the ancient being itself.

For old times’ sake, he ventured towards a paw and sat himself on it. His younger self had often lounged like this, back propped against the strong metal leg, usually gazing over landscapes of planets they stayed at for a short period to rest up.

They both had relished those moments, quiet and not.

The silence was thick. Coran was aware that his own emotions and thoughts were running him ragged without anyone, even less his former companion, contributing to it. If anything, they would be the one to make him stop and reconsider.

Still, he felt it needed to be said.

“I am sorry it came down to this,” he admitted almost inaudibly, needing to clear his throat before continuing, “We both were.”

Coran let his eyes trail up towards the silvery underside of the Lion’s jaw.

“King Alfor and I as well. We misread the situation and it cost the universe its peace and freedom.”

His fingers were intertwined at this point, clenching and unclenching as pain stemming from his rawest, deepest core rushed through him in waves, transcending into something he physically felt.

He had never been able to forgive himself and never would be, not until Zarkon’s reign of terror was stopped at the very least.

His friend did not stir as he writhed underneath them.

Pressing his still entwined hands forcefully onto the spot between his eyes, he did his best to gather himself.

Zarkon’s face, unmarred and _friendly,_ sprung to his mind with such clarity it almost took his breath away.

He had been the leader, the Black Paladin, and a man Coran himself had deeply, deeply admired.

It had been impossible not to. Though not the oldest of their team (that honorable title had been Xeiddynt’s), he had still been older and more experienced than him, Uan’ and Alfor. A high-ranking officer in the Galran armed forces with a charisma unlike any he had ever witnessed before.

Coran remembered all too clearly how he and Uan’ had once joked about how, if Zarkon ever asked them to, they would jump off a cliff for him with a merry salute. The thought sickened him now, especially considering how blind his initial adulation had made him towards the signs.

It would be a lie to say that Zarkon had been a bad leader.

His experience as a commander had made him the most suited for the position he filled, being able to come up with elaborate plans and adapt them almost instantly as the situation demanded. He had been withdrawn, without question, yet he had always been able to give the appearance of a patient and considerate leader.

It had been these very qualities that had Alfor drawn to the man, asking incessantly for his tutelage.

In a time where Alteans and Galrans had been races connected by a long-lasting, non-aggressive affiliation, no one had batted an eyelash at a young Altean almost constantly following a Galran.

In light of what was to come, Coran found that the bouts of jealousy he had experienced back then to be rather meaningless and petty.

It was impossible to tell when the shift had happened; if there ever had been one. Maybe it had been something insidious, something that had festered inside the Galran long before he had joined Paladin ranks.

The only way to find out was to ask Zarkon himself. But that would never happen.

Coran was not willing to listen. Not anymore.

After decades of flying together, exploring galaxies and planets far away, helping maintain the status quo, Uan’ passed away. It had been swift but not unexpected, the team’s only consolation being that it had happened during their sleep.

It had been the sign that their time as the Paladins of Voltron was coming to its end, that it was time to return the Lions to Altea to choose the next generations of younglings to ensure the protection of all free people.

Coran and Alfor had been prepared to turn their backs on this part of their lives – they had people waiting for them and duties to fulfill, traditions to uphold.

Xeiddynt had been inconsolable. A stranger among their own people, they had only been able to convey to Coran the loss they felt at having to part ways. It was one of the things that Coran regretted just as much as not stepping up to Zarkon when it still would have been possible to stop him.

He never saw the Lesnian again. Now, he realized that there was so much he could have offered them: staying with him and Alfor to help with the construction of the Castle of Lions, be an instructor to the new Paladins like he had become once he had returned; just anything to make sure they were in good company and appreciated.

But he had done none of these things. He liked to argue that it was his inexperience and youth that contributed to it but it sounded more like a hollow reassurance to appease himself. As it was, he would forever be tormented by the what-ifs and maybes for as long as he lived.

He hadn’t noticed himself shaking but the feeling of his body rattling to his very bones helped him ground himself.

The Blue Lion sat immobile but it was thrumming with a life and energy that was almost soothing. Coran wanted to console himself with the idea that she had picked up on his distress, futile as the idea might be.

He gave the metal paw a gentle pat, running his palm along the smooth, cold surface absentmindedly.

Zarkon had not given up his Lion like the rest of them.

It was unusual but not unheard of and it had facilitated the process of teaching the new Paladins. Coran had _enjoyed_ working alongside his former leader, coming up with training regimes and adding new ones to the roster, some of which he was using for the current Paladins even. Before long, Zarkon and his new team had departed, leaving him and Alfor to assert themselves back into lives that seemed almost alien after their nomadic travels across the universe.

Communication between Altea and the Paladins became sparse, as rumors about Voltron openly taking sides in conflicts spread. He had been naïve to ignore them for as long as he had, too caught up in his own troubles and worries to question his trust in his old companion.

When they returned, shortly after Alfor had been crowned king and Coran was about to take over the duty as royal advisor, the team had been short of two of their Paladins and Zarkon had sported the scar which had not only disfigured him but robbed him of sight in his left eye.

The loss of two pilots should have been enough incentive to raise suspicions, to make them question his ability to still lead a team meant to preserve peace.

But they had not: because they had been negligent; because Zarkon had defended his case and motives in such a rational manner that it had been impossible to accuse him of being an inadequate commander.

And the cycle would repeat two more times before finally the allied systems would voice their protests, would demand the demission of the man whose battles were now openly waged in favor of his people only.

Coran had not been there for the final confrontation, tending to a young Allura in the almost finished castle that would henceforth serve as the Lions’ sanctuary.

All he knew about the battle were rumors and King Alfor’s own retelling of the events.

Zarkon was strong, Coran himself had been witness to the destruction he could sow even without the entirety of the Galrans following his command, but ten thousand years ago, he had not stood a chance against a former Paladin and comrade in arms, as well as the best fighters Altea had to offer.

He had fled, leaving behind his Lion but not the bayard Allura had declared lost to the Earthlings. He knew it was not lost so much as it had been stolen but there had been no need to correct her. It was out of their reach anyway.

Alfor had been, for the lack of a better word, heartbroken. He had looked up to Zarkon and his ability to lead, had felt inspired by it in his own role. Coran remembered many days where his friend had been in dire need of reassurances, of the proof that he would never turn into the kind of monster their comrade had become.

Bless the Gods for Allura’s presence.

Her love was a balm to Alfor’s soul Coran’s gentle encouragements never could have provided. And now, Coran came to understand just how much hope he could draw from the young woman, with determination and energy so boundless it left Coran quite in awe.

The sound of doors opening and the shuffling of feet had Coran turning his head at lightning speed, just in time to see a yawning Lance drag himself into the hangar.

When the young man’s eyes blearily set on him, Coran could feel his every muscle tense up with apprehension that he knew was completely unwarranted. He felt like a child again, his mother catching him in the middle of smuggling wild thrumplers into their home.  


Lance blinked tiredly at him, obviously not as alert as he would usually be after a full night’s sleep. For a second, Coran entertained the thought of swiftly hiding behind one of the Blue Lion’s giant paws, in the hopes that Lance might believe his senses were playing tricks on him in his current state of drowsiness.

His plans were cut short with a questioning mumble of: “Coran?”

He tried his best at keeping his fingers from twitching as he got up calmly, walking towards the pilot with a welcoming smile.

“Hello, young Paladin, I see you are up quite early.”

Lance gave a nod as he swiped both his hands over his eyes, before drawing his blue dressing gown tighter around his shoulders. With every second passing and every step he drew closer, Coran could see the young Paladin slowly regaining his bearings.

Though Coran would never be foolish enough to say it out loud, he could not help but remember a time when young Allura had looked just like Lance at this very moment. It was rather endearing to be honest.

“’Sup Coran, what’re you doing here?”

He had hoped he might distract the young man from the obvious but Coran admitted he sometimes poorly judged the Earthlings’ perceptiveness. It would have been easier had Lance just taken the bait; to tell why he was coming down here, when normally he would be fast asleep along with (most of) his fellow Paladins.

A half-lie, he decided, would be most believable.

“I was running diagnostics on your Lions after our recent battle and received various notifications. Nothing the Coranic can’t fix, mind you.” He stroked his mustache, giving Lance a grin that was met with another tired blink. Maybe he still did need some time to wake up fully.

“Are you alright? It is unusual to see you up this early without a drill.”, he asked in genuine concern. He knew the amount of responsibilities resting on these young humans’ shoulders, understood what it meant to be caught in a fight that had never been yours to begin with.

It was why he had been trying so hard to accommodate the castle’s new residents, even if at times he was met with rejection and blank expressions. Humans, Coran was learning, were perplexing and complex.

Lance started a little at the question but gave a reassuring smile.

“Nah, nothing too bad. Just couldn’t sleep and decided to go see Blue. Hunk will just kick me out if I bother him again.”

There was warmth accompanying the amusement in his voice and Coran gave a hum in understanding alongside an offer for the young man to come to him if need be.

“It’s fine.” Lance assured, stretching “Just happens, I guess.”

Coran gave a nod, turning to leave the hangar. There were still systems to be checked and it would be compromising if Lance did notice the conspicuous lack of instruments Coran usually needed in order to tend to mechanical problems.

He tapped on the smooth surface of the elevator’s panel to open the doors when Lance surprised him: “But you know that you can also, ya know, talk with me, right?”

With one foot in the door, Coran chanced a glance back at his young friend, the dark-skinned human fidgety and unsure whether he might have said something out of line. Although he did not plan on taking up the offer, Coran appreciated the sentiment behind it nonetheless.

“Of course, young Paladin.”

And he left.  



End file.
